


so often i can think of you only with teeth clenched

by amells (aeviternal)



Series: as if i had a string somewhere under my left ribs [3]
Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Mutual Masturbation, set post-book 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:20:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26496274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeviternal/pseuds/amells
Summary: Adam can't sleep. This, of course, is nothing new for a vampire with over nine centuries of sleepless nights under his belt.Only June can't sleep either, and that— yes,thatis certainly new for him.
Relationships: Detective/Adam du Mortain, Female Detective/Adam du Mortain
Series: as if i had a string somewhere under my left ribs [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1917049
Comments: 5
Kudos: 75





	so often i can think of you only with teeth clenched

**Author's Note:**

> this is a few months old and i've polished it up but it's still not like. great. so soz for that lads shdkshdk

He didn’t realise, not at first.

Adam had spent most of the night doing what he always did when sleep evaded him, as it often did; running himself ragged in the gym facilities, both in the hope it might knock him off his feet and keep him on them for many more hours to come. 

It had been hours. Indeed, he had been thus occupied for long enough that even his hardier muscles had begun to ache. Farah had once said that he was pig-headed in that way, but he much preferred to think of himself as focused. Determined. Solid.

He passed June’s room on his way back to his own, as he always did — not to check on her, of course; this was simply the quickest route to his destination — and made sure to quiet his steps near her door, as he always did.

June did not sleep enough. She wore bruised bags under her eyes now at all times, and there was something constantly disheveled about her that had not been there when first they met; as though the woman she’d been before Murphy had been twisted just slightly off-centre and left to wander, blind and lost, without quite knowing why.

Perhaps he was overthinking it. He had no way of knowing, after all, how her mind worked. And yet…

Under her baggy hoodies and oversized shirts, she seemed… thinner, somehow. Smaller. She was already miniscule, of course, so he shouldn’t have noticed, and— and he hardly had any business noticing the nature of her body either, but somehow it seemed impossible to miss, as though she were screaming inside and it were all he could hear.

Ridiculous, of course. And he would have put it from his mind, ignored whatever trauma might have been clinging to her birdlike bones, however—

She was part of the team now. _She was part of the team now,_ and so such sleep deprivation was— unfortunate. Inconvenient, as it were. 

Indeed, it knotted something up in Adam’s chest whenever he considered it; exhausted as she no doubt was, she could hardly perform at her best, and if there was one weak link in the team, all of them would come crashing down.

Preoccupied with such thoughts, when he heard it — ‘it’ being a soft whimper from beyond June’s door, barely audible were it not for the silence in the hallway — he assumed she was having a nightmare. It would make sense, after all; she had never spoken of her dreams to him, or, as far as he could tell, to anyone else, but she slept so little, and she’d already demonstrated an inclination to wandering the Warehouse at night.

Without quite knowing why, Adam found himself stopping before her door, head turned as though he could stare through it if he tried hard enough. Was she alright?

Another low, hoarse whimper, and this time, something in the general vicinity of his ribs gave an awful tug. 

What should he do? She had come to him before, when she couldn’t sleep. Should he wait for her to do so again?

But that was ridiculous. _Laughable._ Why would he need to _do_ anything? And— and why should she come to him in the first place? He was her commander, not her— well, not _anything else._

Her voice caught on a word — did she sleep-talk? — just barely inaudible to his enhanced hearing, and he frowned, shifting closer to the door so he might hear better. If she spoke, perhaps he might learn the precise nature of her nightmares. Perhaps… perhaps he might help.

“Adam,” he heard, light and breathy, and he frowned, something simultaneously soft and sharp unfurling under his sternum at the sound.

Was she dreaming of him? Were they… were they good dreams? Or were they nightmares in truth, all bloody fangs and copper agony? 

Did— did she see him standing in Murphy’s place? Did she fear him? Had she realised, as he had feared — _worried,_ only worried, it was not something so base as fear — she had in the Facility months ago, that perhaps indeed they were all of them monsters? Had she at last succumbed to that prejudice of all humans?

“Adam,” June sighed again. Then, fainter: _“Fuck…”_

He was in danger of cracking his skull against her door now, but still, he shifted closer.

And that was when he heard it.

Under her breathing, under her words, under those barely-there whimpers: a slick, sliding sound.

He stilled. Was she—?

“Fuck, Adam, just like that, fuck, _please—”_

Adam stumbled back from the door, all limbs, like a defenceless idiot or else a boy playing at adulthood, but now that he’d heard her, he couldn’t _stop._

That wet noise had settled into a rhythm, steady and slow, and with every _loooong_ squelch came a moan, low and muffled, as though she were holding something over her mouth. Her hand, maybe? Was— was she using both of her hands?

 _Merde,_ what was she doing?

The bedframe creaked, just slightly, and then she moaned again, growling under her breath, and _God above_ if that wasn’t one of the most fantastic sounds he’d ever heard. Rough and low, throaty, like it’d been ripped out of her against her will.

“Adam,” she groaned, still so quiet, the sound of her— _pleasuring herself_ picking up speed. “ _Shit,_ shit, that’s so goo— _so good_ , Adam, please, fuck, _please.”_

He bit back a moan of his own, and it was only then that he became aware of the shivering heat running down his spine, the thick arousal pooling in his belly and stiffening his cock.

He— he had to go, this was a bad idea, he had to _move,_ what was he doing—

By God, she sounded _so wet._ What was she imagining? She— _him,_ apparently, and he couldn’t bear to examine the primal pride that swelled in him at the thought, but— but specifically? What fantasy was playing out in her mind?

He swallowed thickly, palming himself through his sweatpants and holding his breath so that he couldn’t miss a single creak, a single whimper, a single thrust.

And thank God for that, because the bedframe squeaked again, and then suddenly that deliciously wet sound was _louder._

“F— faster, Adam, _fuck,”_ June gasped, her breaths coming in harsh, hushed pants. “Need you to— f-fucking faster, oh my _God_ , please.”

 _Please,_ he thought faintly, feeling his cock throb in his palm even through his pants. _I have never heard her so polite in all the time I’ve known her._

He’d never heard her _beg,_ either, always thought her too proud for that, but as the slick sound of her— God, of her _fucking herself_ built into a faster and faster rhythm, that was what she was doing.

“I’m— _hng,_ fuck, m’close, Adam _please,_ please can I come, I’ll— I’ll be good, I’ll be _so_ good, just please, please, _please—_ ”

 _Yes,_ and somewhere along the line he’d slipped his hand under his waistband and wrapped his fingers around his length and started to _stroke,_ as he so rarely did these days, _come for me, June, yes, go on, go on—_

Her cry of release was muffled, like she’d thrown a hand over her mouth to stifle it, and for a split-second he felt entirely robbed. _I didn’t tell you to be quiet,_ Adam thought, eyes slipping shut as he swiped a drop of pre-come from his tip and picked up speed. _I didn’t tell you—_

Anything. He hadn’t told her anything. Because he was stood outside her bedroom door, fondling himself to the sound of her getting herself off, and she was his _colleague_ and she was _June_ and he was _still pumping his cock,_ and what was he _doing_?

He snapped his hand out of his pants as though it had burned him, staring at his glistening palm with both shock and a burning shame, so confused as to how he had found himself here that he could not even formulate thoughts.

In June’s room, something thumped. And then— _no!_ Then she was _walking towards the door,_ where he still stood, loose and gormless like some sort of— some sort of _imbecile._

Within a blink, he was racing down the hall at top speed, ears burning, the elastic of his cargo pants snapping against his hips as he released them entirely, and how foolish was he? What sort of— what sort of _child,_ what sort of meat-headed _youth_ had he just proven himself, fumbling desperately for pleasure just because he’d heard a few little sounds?

As he finally reached his bedroom, he shook his head. What a _fool._ That was— this had been a massive lapse in his control. An _unforgivable_ one, really. What had he been thinking? And— and why _J_ — _Detective Lovelace,_ why was it _she_ who had stoked this aching heat deep in his gut when none other had in… in _centuries?_

Aside from her blood, there was nothing special about her at all. She was just a woman, a _human_ woman, just as young and fragile and short-sighted as every other he had met. The detective was— she was feckless and fickle and foolish, and he _knew_ this to be true.

But— but she was also bright. _So_ bright, in every sense of the word. Clever enough to keep up with Nate at the very least, even outstripping him when it came to technology, though admittedly that was not difficult. And she was _funny,_ however he loathed to admit it; funny and happy to be so, trying to coax laughter out of everyone in her orbit.

And he supposed, perhaps, from an objective standpoint… perhaps she was quite pretty, in her way.

Adam swallowed, dragging a hand through his hair. Whatever the reason, it did not matter. It would not happen again. June— this would prove to be some misunderstanding. She knew another Adam, perhaps — though for some reason, the thought had something clawed and many-fingered stirring in his chest — or… or he’d imagined it. There was no way.

And he was _still_ hard, cock standing proud and erect, making a tent in his sweatpants that he tried valiantly to ignore.

 _It will go away,_ he told himself.

 _Any minute now,_ he thought again, some measurement of heartbeats later.

_It will—_

Except he could still hear June’s moans ringing in his ears, low and soft and _divine,_ and when he shut his eyes he found himself imagining what she might have looked like, how she might have tasted and felt and smelled.

He’d helped the Agency decorate her room. For the sake of preciseness, of course; the aim had been to replicate her apartment on small-scale, and no one had known it better than his team.

He inhaled slowly. 

It wasn’t going away. 

Fine. _Fine._ He could— it— if he couldn’t make it go away like _that,_ he could just… take care of it. Like scratching an itch, or feeding. It was a need he could manage and then forget about.

Perfunctory. Quick. With a low growl, he slipped his hand down into his pants, stuffed his fist into his mouth, and used the still-gathering pre-come at his tip to slick up his strokes.

But what had begun as a simple, impersonal movement quickly became something else. 

In his mind’s eye, he could see her stretched out across the starry bedsheets _he’d_ chosen, her legs splayed, fingers scissoring herself open for him. Perhaps her other hand had been grasping at those _beautiful_ breasts he’d been trying so hard not to notice, pinching one of her nipples — it would be pink, he thought, pink and pale like that pretty mouth of hers, pebbled under her touch — and whimpering when she pulled particularly hard.

 _Merde,_ those whimpers. His strokes picked up speed, hearing once more the sounds she’d been making as she fucked herself to completion, the perfect, _perfect_ way she’d begged.

He thought of how her head might have fallen back, that plush little mouth opening to gasp out his name — _his_ name, he remembered, and no one else’s, his hand going clumsy at the thought — as her hand twisted to play with her clit.

Would penetration be enough for her? Or would he have to toy with her too, stroking circles into her folds as he fucked her?

He positively _shuddered_ at that, the idea of touching her the way that she’d been touching herself sending a wave of heat down through his belly and driving his teeth deep enough into his knuckles to draw blood.

 _So wet,_ he recalled, starting to jerk himself again. She’d been _so wet._

Her head back, she would’ve been a sight. Those perky little breasts of hers heaving with every breath, shuddering as she mewled, and her neck _, merde,_ her _neck_. Open and bared for biting, practically begging for it, _fuck—_

But maybe not. Perhaps she’d been on her knees, upright and riding her hand below her, the fingers of her other hand leaving a glistening path behind as they slid from her clit to play with her nipples.

Or— or perhaps she’d been on all fours, her back arched, one of her hands — _fuck,_ that felt good _—_ splayed over that shapely backside of hers, digits slipping slowly in and out of herself. Her cunt drooling for him, hips twitching and arching and bucking, her mouth buried in the meat of her bicep to muffle her moans…

“ _Fuck,”_ he hissed, twisting his fist on its way up to his tip, because _wasn’t that a thought._

And it shouldn’t have been, it shouldn’t have been anything at all, but suddenly all he could think about was the slick sound of her sex and the idea of her _teeth_ , clamped down hard on her own skin, and _merde, merde_ , it surely hadn’t always felt this good, the heat zipping down his spine and through his pelvis shouldn’t have been _this good,_ but he could feel his whole body tightening and hot seed spilling over his palm and—

And _June._ Fuck, _June._


End file.
